


The Sons of Knights Gone By

by fractionallyfoxtrot



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 07:17:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3479222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractionallyfoxtrot/pseuds/fractionallyfoxtrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Gwaine accompanies Leon to his home is on the news that Leon’s father isn't well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sons of Knights Gone By

They rode out as soon as the letter arrived in Camelot.

There was no discussion on whether or not Gwaine would accompany Leon. He simply packed when Leon packed, asking Merlin to help them gather provisions as food seemed to be the farthest thing from Leon’s mind. They rode out with Arthur’s blessing and good hope that their journey would be swift, very few other words passing between the two long time friends as Arthur saw them to the gates of the citadel. They rode for nearly two days straight, stopping only to feed, water, and rest their horses as Leon could never be unkind to them, no matter the circumstance.

They didn’t make it in time.

Gwaine stood at the back of the room, hands clasped together, head slightly bowed as he watched Leon’s family converse with the physician. Brief introductions had been made and then Gwaine slipped silently back into the woodwork, his place in the room, gathering, and situation all uncertain. He was grateful that they’d rode out in full regalia; the armor, cloak, and Pendragon crest marking him as a knight of Camelot made him feel less out of place standing in the home of Leon’s father, the house of a lord.

Leon’s mother bore the tears of a woman who had been equal partner to a man of power, quiet, resolute, fully acknowledged but not surrendered to. Leon’s sister didn’t fare quite as well. She cried loud, broken sobs, easily heard and felt despite her face being hid in the folds of Leon’s cloak. Leon held her, his face tucked into her similarly curly hair where, Gwaine guessed, he spoke reassurances in the calm tone only Leon possessed. He brought both arms around her, tucking her head under his chin as he gently stroked her hair.

The physician spoke then, saying something that prompted Leon to lift his head and meet the man’s eye. He nodded and carefully unwound his sister from him, passing her into the arms of their mother. He looked back at Gwaine. Leon made no motion or gesture but Gwaine stepped forward, reading Leon’s gaze turned to him as indication that it was now time for him to participate. He moved to the group, receiving a brief nod from Leon’s mother as he followed Leon into the bedchambers.

The door closed behind them and all was quiet.

Leon’s father was larger than Gwaine had imagined him, taller than his son and with the build of a man who had not gone soft in his years away from the battlefield. He was an imposing figure even on his death bed.

Gwaine stood by the door as Leon approached his father, feeling suddenly unworthy to be in the presence of the man he’d heard the aging knights tell stories of. They spoke of his bravery, brilliance, and brutality, a man, they said, who could have rivaled Uther for his crown if he’d only chose to do so. His was the name and shadow Leon walked in, the legacy Leon worked so hard to uphold. What would he have thought of Gwaine, the son of a denied knight, a common man in everyone’s eyes still proving that he deserved the position bestowed upon him?

“He would’ve liked you,” Leon said quietly from his father’s bedside, as if he’d heard Gwaine’s thoughts. His head was down, his hands pressed to the bed linens. “He was-”

A heavy breath was the only warning before Leon fell to his knees, choked cries escaping his chest as his hands twisted in the sheets beside his father’s arm. Gwaine was with him in a few strides, their cloaks pooling on the floor around them as he knelt next to Leon. He tried to find Leon’s face, wanting to reach him through the sudden wave of grief that engulfed him. He had to work Leon’s fingers free from the bed linens and lift his head, as if its weight was no longer something Leon could bear on his own.

“Leon.”

“I’m not like him,” Leon said between soft sobs.

He shook his head as Gwaine shed one of his gloves, gently pushing fallen curls out of Leon’s face. Their gazes met and held; the insecurity in Leon’s eyes was so different from Gwaine’s that he barely recognized it.

“You’re like him,” Leon breathed, not accusing, simply stating. Gwaine, dumbfounded, was slow to deny it, shaking his head only after Leon continued speaking. “Loud. Bold. Fierce. Undeniable presence. Loved by all…”

Leon’s voice broke over his last words, dropping his head from Gwaine’s grasp. Gwaine ducked his own head, grabbing a handful of cloak and mail at Leon’s collar and turning him more towards him. He couldn’t stand the thought of Leon doubting his worth while knelt at his father’s death bed. It was inevitable that he would grieve and feel pain but the loss of his father should’ve been the only source of his anguish.

“Leon.”

Gwaine lifted Leon’s head, holding a firm hand against the rough beard on his cheek.

“You are every one of those things and more,” he said, struggling with the tightness in his throat. He pressed when Leon tried to protest. “You command men who respect and admire you. You serve a king who is just as loyal to you as you are to him.” Gwaine spoke for a man he’d never met in life, sure without a doubt that what he said was true. “Your father must’ve been so proud to call you his son.”

Gwaine gathered Leon to him and Leon came more than willingly, a renewed set of sobs breaking in his chest. He held his ungloved hand to the back of Leon’s head, the other on Leon’s shoulder, his arm wrapped around the bulk of Leon’s body covered in layers of armor and vestments. It wasn’t a gentle embrace; Leon’s hands bit into Gwaine’s arms, even through the quilted gambeson, and dual trappings of plate and mail fought against their attempt at closeness. Gwaine held Leon as grief shook him, offering the only comfort he knew he could provide.

He had no way of knowing how long they knelt clutched together on the floor.

Leon pulled away at some point, his breathing calming as the initial flood of pain seemed to wash away. He sat and Gwaine copied him, relieving the tension in his legs as he leaned back against the bed. They shed their gloves, Leon pushing hair from his face and wiping tears from his cheeks before firmly taking one of Gwaine’s hands. He looked up at his father with a longing Gwaine had never seen in him before.

“He would’ve liked you,” Leon said, repeating his earlier statement, his head still turned away.

“You think so?” Gwaine asked. He was genuinely curious about what Leon’s father would’ve thought of him.

Leon turned to him and nodded. Leon wasn’t one to lie; Gwaine tried not to feel too pleased about the unspoken approval Leon conveyed for his father.

“He would’ve challenged to drink you under the table.”

Gwaine couldn’t stop his laugh of disbelief. “What? Really?”

Leon nodded again. His humor was very dry but he gave no indication that he was kidding.

“He challenged every man that courted my sister and he was victorious over every one.” Leon’s eyes fell and for the briefest moment, a smile touched his face. “She often feared stories of his challenge would stop men from approaching her,” he added.

Gwaine glanced up at Leon’s father, feeling admiration for a man whose legend grew with every tale of him. He regretted not getting his own turn to drink for the man’s respect.

“I’m sorry to not have known him in life,” Gwaine said, squeezing Leon’s hand for a moment.

Leon looked up, his eyes hazy with grief; not the stark, overwhelming grief of earlier but a mournful, underlying grief that Gwaine expected he’d be wearing for a while. He sank into Gwaine’s side, their cloaks bunching up between them as he leaned over to rest his forehead at Gwaine’s temple. Their hands sat clasped together over their mail, anchoring Leon’s loss to Gwaine’s, so different in every way except the severing pain left in the wake of someone dear.

“And am I,” Leon said softly.

They sat in the silent company of Leon’s father, mourning the loss of the men who’d shaped them.

They sat until the bedchamber doors opened, preceding the arrival of Leon’s brother, the eldest, the new lord.


End file.
